


Deserving

by dyspnea



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Blood, Character Death, Gunplay, Heavy Angst, M/M, Necrophilia, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spoilers, Topping from the Bottom, Yeah you read that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 10:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyspnea/pseuds/dyspnea
Summary: SPOILER WARNING! AND READ THOSE TAGS!! A twist on the infamous post-Palace 6 scene. A bit of an mash up of Palace 6 and Palace 7 plot points. More details in the notes because I don't want to spoil anyone in the summary!





	Deserving

**Author's Note:**

> ******* SPOILERS UP TO THE COMPLETION OF PALACE 7! *******
> 
> I'm a bit bummed I had to put those tags in because it spoils the story, but I'm not here to upset anybody. That being said, this fic has the potential to be HIGHLY DISTURBING. It's honestly not _that_ graphic if you ask me, but it's still a bit gruesome. Necro ain't really my kink but how can you watch the original scene and not get a hankering for some??? ;D
> 
> Summary: Akechi has some severe emotional lability and a gun to Akira's head in the interrogation room.

Akira flinched at the sound of the security guard's skull hitting wet concrete. He had never seen a gun except those in the Metaverse, and even they had an air of imitation. The pistol in Akechi's hand was no imitation. Neither was the pool of blood creeping towards his feet.

"At last, we get to speak as equals," Akechi declared with a nonchalant wave of his left hand, his fingers still wrapped around the stock.

"We're hardly equals," Akira replied. Akechi refused to acknowledge the flippant remark.

"The Phantom Thieves, loved and revered by the masses for destroying the evils of society. Even as _I_ publicly declared you terrorists, the public refused to listen. They would rather believe in some silly promise of justice than listen to the true voice of reason. Quite pathetic, isn't it?"

Akira only stared. He remained silent.

"But all it took was taking out Okumura to change their minds," he continued. "People change their minds quickly when they think with their emotions instead of their brains. They react wildly when they're scared. Tell me. Are _you_ scared, Joker?"

The barrel of the silencer was cold against his feverish forehead. Akira was thankful his fringe covered the sweat beading along his temples. He said nothing, only staring up at him over the frames of his glasses as Akechi leaned over him.

"I tried tirelessly to ignore my feelings towards you. It was all just disgust, I assured myself. Disgust I could momentarily stuff away to join forces with you. It would be worth it, all worth it in the end. I could pretend to befriend you while anxiously waiting to _kill_ you. But I have to admit to you, Joker, before I _do_ kill you..." Akechi loosened the tie wound tightly around his neck, the air suddenly stifling. "I have found myself... attracted towards you as well."

In hindsight, it made sense; the subtle flirting Akira assumed was merely awkward friendliness was genuine after all. He had tried to ignore and dismiss it, not wanting to get caught up in sending the wrong signals. Not that he would've picked up on them, anyway. Akechi came off as charming but also a bit socially clueless. Maybe people found him charming _because_ he seemed socially clueless?

Before Akira could even think of the proper response to the statement, he felt warm lips forced against his own. He opened his mouth to gasp and a deep chuckle rose from the back of Akechi's throat. Taking it as a silent invitation, he thrust his tongue into the other boy's mouth, desperate for deeper contact. Akira hesitantly obliged; he returned the gesture, running his tongue along the inside of Akechi's cheek. He was too terrified to resist. The pressure of slick metal that jabbed into his forehead was suddenly gone, but he knew it was far from a good omen.

As much as he'd never admit it, Akira had never done this before. He had fantasized about it plenty of times, finding himself wondering what kinds of kissers his teammates would be. Ann would act confident but actually have no idea what she was doing; Futaba would at least admit she was unsure in an endearing tone. Ryuji kissed a girl once in middle school, he told him, but he may have been lying. He would imagine Yusuke to be an amazing kisser, even though he knew that was likely not the case given his social blunders. Haru and Makoto seemed untouchable to the point where he was too intimidated to think about it.

Their breaths warmed one other's cheeks as the deep kisses were broken, only to be swallowed once more while lips pressed together. Akira was growing increasingly anxious, fighting back tears as the reality of his position set in. He was going to die if he didn't plan his escape. Was it going to hurt? Would it be instantaneous? Would there be any repercussions, or would his legacy fizzle and die with him? Akira didn't _want_ to die. Not like this. Not alone in a cold interrogation room with a bullet in his brain. He could hardly concentrate on the task at hand while his mind swam with regrets and what-ifs.

Panting as he pulled back, Akechi put the gun down on the table momentarily while he stripped himself of his outer jacket. His face was flushed a deep pink, eyes half-lidded as he stared down at Akira as though he was his prey. It was then that Akira finally felt his heart racing in his chest, rattling against his ribs, threatening to break from his body with every desperate pump of blood. There was something so unsettling about Akechi's expression that triggered the burst of adrenaline now coursing through his veins. He had lost control of the situation. He had lost the stand-off. And it wasn't until he saw Akechi pick the gun up off the table that Akira realized he had missed the perfect and likely only opportunity to save himself.

The rubber soles of his shoes squeaked as Akechi walked around the table. Without hesitation, he straddled Akira and sat down on his lap, throwing his arms over his shoulders and clasping his hands together behind his head.

"Do you want me to ride you, Akira?" he whispered into his ear, the sound of his name passing Akechi's lips causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. Akechi grinded his hips at a steady rhythm against his crotch with growing intent. Akira could feel Akechi's erection straining against his pants; his trembling fingertips curled against the tabletop, nails grating as they scratched along the metal. Anxious nausea rose in his throat. He began to hyperventilate, his breaths coming out strangled and wheezed.

Blackness overtook his vision for a split second as his brain rattled against the front of his skull. Before Akira realized where he was, he was sure he had been shot. It wasn't until he looked up and saw dark eyes peering down at him that he discovered himself on the floor. Akechi had his foot resting on the fallen chair, the gun aimed at his face once more.

"You aren't even hard," Akechi seethed as the gun rattled in his hand. "You _were_ lying. I knew it. I fucking _knew it_! Look at you, you're even _crying_ like a child!"

The words Akira fought to say were caught in his throat. He could only brace his arms over his head in a pathetic attempt to shield himself. He couldn't see Akechi's face, but he heard a hitch in the other's breath and a sniffle before his voice softened. "You didn't have to pretend. I can handle rejection. I'm used to it, actually. Though I'm sure you deduced that quite some time ago."

"You had a gun to my head!" Akira snapped back as he lowered his arms. He glared at the teary boy, fed up with his incessant ramblings of self-pity. But that quick flare of bravery was soon replaced by a familiar sense of panic when he watched how quickly Akechi's expression changed.

"Yes. Just as I do now. I guess that means I'm the one in control, then." The gun went off, leaving a smoking chip in the flooring a mere inches away from Akira's face. His heart rate accelerated tenfold.

"Now get on your knees."

Akira didn't hesitate. Whatever ounce of doubt that existed in Akechi's voice had disappeared. He was no longer bluffing. As Akira rose to his knees, Akechi shoved the barrel of the silencer against his lips.

"Good. Open your mouth and suck on it."

The smug smile that curled up his face as Akira looked up at him felt like salt rubbed in the wounds of his pride. He obliged, wrapping his pale lips around the tip of the sleek metal cylinder. Akira tried not to notice that trembling finger on the trigger, instead focusing on keeping his tears in check. He couldn't allow him that satisfaction anymore. Shutting his eyes to keep them from falling, hoping it would be mistaken for effort, Akira shifted himself forward and took more of the barrel in his mouth before pulling back to repeat.

Much like kissing, he had no experience in fellatio, only knowing how it was done from low-resolution porn clips on the internet. It was an act Akira had been curious about performing (and receiving, of course) but one he never really had a chance to attempt. This certainly wasn't what he imagined his first time to be like, being stared down by his new enemy with a loaded gun in his mouth instead of a partner's cock. It was as humiliating as it was terrifying.

"Are you using your tongue?" Akechi teased, his smirk widening. "Be sure to give it your best effort."

His mouth opened slightly to expose his tongue, the metallic taste stinging his taste buds as he continued to move. Akira's jaw ached around the weapon but he didn't dare pull away for a breath. The acrid smell of gunpowder and steel filled his nostrils, making him dizzy and light-headed. It was impossible to dissociate with the assault on so many of his senses. His repetitive movements became sloppy and careless as exhaustion set in.

The gun was suddenly retracted, only to repositioned and violently swung. The grip struck Akira in the mouth, knocking teeth loose while sending him flying back to the floor. His earlier headache blossomed into a full-fledged migraine as the bitter taste of blood filled his mouth.

"I told myself I didn't want this," Akechi said while he knelt down to this side and unclasped Akira's belt. Akira was still too disoriented to notice. "I even told myself you were too good for me and that I didn't deserve you. Maybe I was right. But that doesn't matter now."

A gloved hand grasped Akira's limp cock and he yelped, now very much aware of the situation he was in. Akechi was jerking him off fast and hard, the sensitive skin rubbing raw from overstimulation. The saliva-coated gun pressed against his tender cheek.

"Akechi... stop..." he groaned, spitting up a clot of blood that had settled in the back of his throat. A soft clink of metal followed by the sound of fabric falling to the floor reached his ears. His vision was too blurry to read Akechi's facial features when he noticed him hovering; all he could process was that goddamn gun barrel still jabbing into him.

"In the end, I don't care if I'm entitled to have you. You took so much from me, beloved Joker, even when I had so little to give in the first place. It's only fitting that I take something from you, is it not?"

Akira screamed when he felt tight heat sheath his cock in one swift motion, a grip much too tight settling at the base of his shaft. Fingers gripped onto his left shoulder as if clinging for dear life. They were shaking just as violently as the weapon against his face was rattling. Blinking away tears, Akechi's own dampened face became clearer above him. The boy was so light that Akira only just realized he had impaled himself upon him, unprepared and without hesitation.

"Akechi, stop, it hurts!" Akira shrieked as he tried to shove him off. He instantly pulled back when the gun was relocated to settle between his eyes.

"Yes, it does," he replied with a light chuckle. His rapid breathing was shallow, the radiating pain nearly suffocating him. "But I've grown accustomed to it."

The cryptic sentence fell on deaf ears. Akechi began to move, maintaining his vice-like grip on Akira's shoulder while he rocked himself on his knees. He panted and moaned softly as Akira filled him past his limit. His own cock lay half-hard and untouched, bobbing pitifully between his flushed thighs. How depressing. If only this had occurred in different circumstances. Perhaps, he would have no need to hold the threat of death over Akira's head in order for him to fuck him.

Hah, what a silly notion. Even _with_ the threat of death, Akira was _still_ unwilling to fuck him. How stupid of him to fantasize that he was worthy of reciprocated lust.

The brutal friction let up quickly; only when the scent of blood grew thicker in the air did Akira realize why.

"Akechi, please..." he moaned in a daze as his hands settled upon Akechi's bruised knees.

"You're so goddamn haughty, it makes me _sick_ ," Akechi hissed through clenched teeth, ignoring him. "To think you didn't even _try_ to receive people's love and affection while I worked tirelessly for _nothing_. So what if I'm jealous? You think I don't know that?! That doesn't mean my other feelings towards you aren't valid!"

"Stop this! Y-You're... bleeding...!"

"Don't patronize me!" Akechi shrieked wildly as he pressed the barrel harder into his skin. He picked up his pace, every movement like a stab with a knife he knew he deserved. "I've _seen_ the way you look at me. Like you know what I truly am. It's no different than the one my father gives me every time he looks at me. You _hate_ me, don't you?!"

"No, Akechi," he said in a tone that was nothing but genuine. "I don't. I don't hate you."

" _SHUT UP!_ "

A soft, sharp noise rang out. The bullet entered Akira's frontal lobe, killing him instantly. The fingertips on his knees went limp and slid to the floor. Blood matted in the dark curls on Akira's head, pouring steadily from the singed hole that tunneled into his brain. Akechi did not stop moving. He tossed the pistol to the side and removed his gloves.

"How dare you mock me with your fake sympathy," he spat, placing his hand over the wound. The warmth as his palms were drenched was comforting. It pooled in the webbing of his fingers and settled in the shallow lines of his skin. "I don't need your pity. I don't need _anyone's_ pity. I should be revered and praised for this perfect image I've created! No one will ever question my dedication to greatness...!"

He retracted his hand to stroke his own cock, streaking it nearly black with thick, coagulating blood. His other hand grasped the front of Akira's blazer and yanked on it as if to intimidate him. Akechi was barely strong enough to lift his chest from the ground. The deadweight made his arm tremble viciously. A dull, unfulfilling climax built in the pit of his stomach; Akechi pulled off and shifted forward, spilling his come across Akira's cheek. A deep sadness was frozen over Akira's face from his final moments, apparent even past his gazeless eyes.

Akechi choked on a sob caught in his throat. Biting his lip, tears spilling over his bottom lids, he shook the limp body beneath him until his grip gave out and he fell back to the floor.

He could no longer deny it. Akechi knew the truth.

The blood along his cock had dried to a bright crimson and it crumbled off his palm in sheets. He couldn't tell if the wound was still leaking. He couldn't bring himself to stare any longer.

"How could you not hate someone as worthless as me...?" he asked, though there was no one there to answer him. Akechi glanced at his hands and shook his head. Even as he wiped them with a handkerchief and redonned his gloves, he felt irredeemably filthy and used. Overhead buzzing of a florescent bulb drowned out his breathing. The remaining silence felt deafening.

"I suppose I was correct, then. I truly _didn't_ deserve you."


End file.
